


Close Your Eyes

by misbegotten



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Episode: s03e22 Nemesis, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-03-23
Updated: 2000-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-07 21:38:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbegotten/pseuds/misbegotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the events of the episode "Nemesis," Daniel worries about the fate of the rest of SG-1, while Sam tries to survive a suicide mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for most of the 3rd season, particularly Forever in a Day, Past and Present, Jolinar's Memories, The Devil You Know, A Hundred Days, Shades of Grey, Maternal Instinct, Crystal Skull, and Nemesis.
> 
> This story not only contains spoilers for many 3rd season episodes, but it's based heavily upon them. It helps if you've watched them obsessively, as I have before reading this story.

Major Samantha Carter stood silently beside the bed, trying to ignore the voice in her head shouting that time was short. Was it worse to say goodbye, she wondered, or not to?

"He'll be okay, you know," Janet Fraiser offered quietly. The doctor, who had paused in her busy circuit around the infirmary, placed a hand on Carter's shoulder. "Appendicitis isn't that serious, particularly since we caught it in time." In the bed before them, Daniel Jackson had dozed off, and was undisturbed by their presence. The stark white of the linens made him look pale, bleaching away the brown of his hair and tan of his skin.

Sam shrugged. "I know." She closed her eyes for a moment, aware that she did not have time to linger here. "But I have to go. The Colonel's in trouble." She bit back further comment, but Janet caught something in her tone nonetheless.

The doctor squeezed her shoulder sympathetically. "I'll leave you to your goodbyes, then," she said, as she slipped away.

Janet saw too much, Sam thought ruefully, as she slid down on the chair next to the bed. She resisted the urge to sit on the bed itself, to stretch out next to Daniel and enjoy, if only for a minute, the gentle pressure of his body against hers, of his arms cradling her lightly. It's amazing how quickly you find something that you can't live without, Sam thought. The idea scared the hell out of her.

"Hey." His smile was sleepy, but his eyes were open now, and he was obviously pleased to find her there. "Come to treat the patient?"

Sam didn't have to force a smile. "Well, you're not much use to me in the infirmary," she said lightly.

Daniel chuckled, then immediately winced. "Ow. Don't make me laugh."

She smiled sympathetically, and placed her palm against his cheek. "Close your eyes. Get some rest. Get better." She started to withdraw, but Jackson stopped her with his hand on hers.

"What's the rush?" He was lighthearted -- more so than he'd been in months. At least until the morning that she'd woken up trying to burrow further under the comforter, and realized that it wasn't her comforter. When she'd opened her eyes, Sam saw him lying across from her, his head propped on one hand, looking serious as he studied her features. Then his eyes lit up, and he'd leaned forward to brush his lips across hers. "I thought you'd never wake up," he'd teased her gently.

"Did Jack convince you to go fishing?" he continued, teasing again, bringing her back to the present.

She sighed theatrically. "I guessed that I wasn't his first choice..."

"Major Carter, report to the Gateroom immediately. Major Carter to the Gateroom."

Sam winced at the insistent page of the intercom. "Duty calls," she said simply, trying to keep her voice steady.

Daniel frowned. "I thought you were on vacation?" he asked.

She shrugged as she stood up. "You know how it is. I have to go." Their kiss would linger on her lips, in her memory. It always had so far.

"Hey, Sam --"

She stopped, knowing that she shouldn't. "Yeah?"

Daniel hesitated, then smiled, pushing away whatever thoughts he'd been trying to voice. "Nothing," he said. "It's not important."

Seconds ticked away.

"I know, Daniel." Sam smiled. "I know."

***

It wasn't a dream. But it felt like a dream. Sometimes Daniel would look over and see Sam at work, puzzling over some problem or fussing with her Naquadah reactor, and remember her surprised look after their first kiss. Or the way she smiled now when their hands brushed accidentally.

Sometimes he was afraid that it was a dream, like his visions of Sha're induced by the ribbon device. That time had felt like weeks; it seemed as though he'd coped alone with Sha're's death through endless long nights. In the real nights that followed Sha're's death, he had acknowledged that she had finally found release from a waking nightmare. He'd come to grips with the fact that she didn't want him to leave the SGC -- his tribe, as she'd thought of them. He'd known that she forgave him.

It had taken longer to forgive himself.

The last few days with Sam, however, had passed like minutes. They had grabbed dinner together, as they'd often done since Jack's temporary "retirement." Until Kheb, Daniel reminded himself. He'd yelled at her in the temple, and he still remembered the hurt look on her face. But that night -- the first evening they'd had together since Kheb -- he tried to make amends.

***

"Sam, I'm sorry."

She looked up from the Kung Pao chicken, surprised by his sudden interjection. "Sorry about what, Daniel?" Sam waved a peanut, tenuously grasped between chopsticks, in his direction. "For getting everything extra spicy?" She grinned. "I may never forgive you."

"No...." Daniel put the carton of food on the end table and leaned forward from the depths of his armchair. "I've been thinking about Sha're's child. The Harsesis child. And I meant to tell you that I was sorry for snapping at you, in the temple."

Her grin faded, replaced by that slightly troubled look that she tried unsuccessfully to hide whenever he mentioned Sha're lately. She let the chopsticks fall onto her plate. "That was a while ago," she said, dismissing it. "And you were concerned about the baby."

"I was," he admitted. "But I meant to apologize to you anyway. I just got a little, um, distracted."

Sam's smile returned, and she turned her attention back to the food. He found the way she broadcast her emotions reassuring. She'd probably be appalled; he wondered if she realized how easy she was to read sometimes.

"Being invisible will do that to you," she suggested, oblivious to his thoughts. Daniel nodded at her words. It had only been a few days since he said goodbye to Nick on P7X377. It was, he could not deny, reassuring to know that people weren't going to be walking through him any time soon.

"Yeah, well -- that was definitely weird. I'm glad you suggested consulting Nick about the skull."

Sam eyed a piece of vegetable dubiously, then shoved it to the side of her plate. "I like your grandfather," she said. "He's very passionate about his work."

"Stubborn," Jackson replied sourly. When he looked up, however, and saw her raised brow, he couldn't restrain a laugh. "Okay," he admitted. "Maybe it's a family trait." He glanced around the room in which they sat, and knew that even it was testament to a family legacy. Artifacts from his own research were paired with treasures from his childhood, the remnants of his parents' work. Even some of Nick's mementos held their place on his shelves, dusty from the too-long absences imposed by his work for SGC.

"Who knows," Sam mused between bites. "Someday you might be just like him. Locked in an asylum, talking to your imaginary grandchildren."

He pointed his chopsticks at her threateningly. "The next time I'm a ghost, I'm definitely going to haunt you."

She stuck out her tongue in childish frivolity, but her levity passed quickly. "That must have been really frustrating for you." Sam set her plate aside and leaned on the arm of the couch. "I know what it's like, trying to get people to hear you and not being able to."

Her expression, illuminated by the small lamp on the end table, was calm. Still, Daniel reflected, it was the first time that she had spoken so casually about her time as Jolinar's host. Unlocking Jolinar's memories -- as she'd been forced to do so recently -- had been painful, he knew. But revisiting the time when she'd actually been under Jolinar's control...

"How about some coffee?" she suggested, pushing herself up from the couch. "I'll make it."

She moved into the kitchen, assembling the necessary items with easy familiarity. Daniel chewed a final piece of chicken absently, then set the food aside and leaned back into the comfortable depths of the chair. He removed his glasses, placing them on the end table as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. He felt extraordinarily tired, despite the fact that SG-1 had remained close to home for the last few days. The pile of cultural reports on his desk needed to be weeded, he reminded himself. And he needed to edit Robert's analysis of the crystal skull so his former assistant didn't come across on paper as completely incompetent. Skepticism was good, Daniel reminded himself. But, he acknowledged with regret, Robert's brand of skepticism could get him kicked off the Stargate project altogether. He also needed to prepare a summary of surviving Mayan artifacts --

"Hey." Sam's face swam into view, and he realized with surprise that she was crouched beside him, extending a mug to him. "Coffee's ready." She pressed the cup into his hands and he nodded in thanks, but his thoughts were elsewhere. To be precise, he was trying to identify the reason that he suddenly felt odd, as if his stomach had briefly tied itself in knots. Why had Sam's touch on his hand sent his thoughts scattering away?

The background lull as Sam worked in the kitchen had been soothing, he realized. It felt familiar, comfortable. He'd grown accustomed to having her around, and had only seen it because they'd stopped their routine get-togethers after Kheb.

He'd missed her.

Sam had already placed a cup for herself on the coffee table, but hesitated as she turned to retrieve it. "Are you okay?" she asked, puzzled. "It looked like I lost you for a minute, there."

He shook his head. "Oh, it's nothing." At her skeptical glance, he grasped at a stray notion. "I was just thinking -- I wonder why you and Teal'c seemed to sense me when I was, er, between dimensions."

Sam sank onto the couch, reassured. This, her expression seemed to say, was a problem she could deal with. "Maybe it has something to do with our symbiotes." She shrugged. "That's usually the answer when both Teal'c and I are affected by something."

He shook his head. This was something that he had been wondering about. Teal'c had been meditating when Daniel seemed to reach him. Maybe the meditative trance had made him more sensitive to Daniel's presence. But Sam was, for lack of a better description, just being Sam. She was being stubborn -- ignoring Doctor Fraiser's suggestion that she stay in the infirmary, impatiently dismissing Robert when it was obvious that he wasn't taking the problem of Daniel's disappearance seriously.

"That doesn't make sense, though. These aliens are enemies of the Goa'uld -- surely they wouldn't want anyone acting as host to be able to sense the transformation. On the other hand, Jack didn't seem to notice I was around."

Her eyes twinkled mischievously. "The Colonel doesn't notice a lot of things. No offense intended, of course."

He regarded her carefully, surprised by her casual tone. He'd always sort of suspected... "Sam, can I ask you something?"

She cocked her head, perhaps intrigued by his seriousness. "Of course."

"When we got back to Edora, when Jack was saying goodbye to Laira, you seemed..." He trailed off, unable to find a word that wasn't going to make him feel like he was intruding. More than he already was, that is.

She sipped her coffee before replying. When she did, he noticed, her tone was careful. "I wasn't thinking," Sam said. He felt -- unexpectedly -- disappointed by her reserve. "The Colonel... Jack," she corrected herself deliberately, "spent three months believing that he could never go home. And I immediately started blabbering about how smart I'd been."

He winced; there was no bitterness in her tone. This carefully modulated emotionlessness was worse. Daniel moved from the chair to the edge of the couch, and disengaged the hot mug from her hand. She didn't resist. "Sam, you're being too hard on yourself. You spent three months doing the impossible to find a way for Jack to get home. He just didn't realize how much it meant to you."

"Meant to me?" She stared at him blankly for a moment, before some sort of realization dawned. "Meant to me." Sam shook her head ruefully, and refolded herself into the corner of the couch, wrapping her arms around her as if suddenly chilled. "Daniel, he's my CO."

His lips twisted into an attempt at a smile. "Would you really let some military regulations come between you?"

"I don't need military regulations," she responded softly. Sam drew her knee up against her body and rested her chin upon it, looking down at him as he crouched at her feet. "You're an idiot sometimes, Daniel Jackson." A small smile -- which held some thoughts that he could not penetrate -- passed from her face quickly. "Do you know what my worst memory is?" She closed her eyes briefly, as if physically pained. "Do you know what Apophis used against me?"

He felt his stomach clench as he recalled Sam's limp form being dumped on the floor of the pit by Apophis' guards. Daniel vaguely recalled that he'd tried to help Jack -- who had been selected next for interrogation -- but had only earned a violent blow for his trouble. But all the while he'd been trying to see Sam, trying to see past Martouf, who was hovering over her. Please tell me she's alive, he'd wanted to shout.

"My father came home one day." Sam's voice trembled slightly. "He'd been working late. He was supposed to pick Mom up, but he'd been working late and forgot. She took a cab instead." She was looking through him now, lost in the realm of memory. "It was so stupid.... There was an accident. She was killed instantly."

Daniel carefully put his hand across hers, afraid that she might shrug him off, but she grasped the offered comfort.

"Dad came home without her, Daniel. Don't you get it?" Sam tried to smile through the threatened tears. "I couldn't do that to Jack. I couldn't do it to Dad on Netu."

Why had he pushed this, he berated himself. They'd never talked about her family this way. Even in the days after Sha're's funeral, when she had been carefully solicitous (how had he known even in his dream, Daniel wondered, that she'd provide cookies and comfort?), they'd never talked about her losses. He'd never pushed beyond the bounds of close friendship before, never pried beyond the casual.

What had the monk said, Daniel thought abruptly? Because it's so clear, it takes a longer time to realize it...

"Sam," he grasped her hand more tightly, forcing her to focus on him. "Close your eyes."

She looked confused, but did it. One tear forced its way down her cheek, and he resisted the urge to trace its path with his finger.

"Now open them," he commanded. She did, and he saw that she'd regained some of her control. "What do you see?"

Sam paused, uncertain.

"Look at me," he prompted her. "What do you see?"

"A friend." Sam swallowed. "A colleague."

He waited, surprised by his own cautious stillness. Surprised that this suddenly mattered so much to him.

"Someone that I care about," she said, barely above a whisper.

"Someone," Daniel suggested quietly, "who would never leave you."

The wariness that had held her in check melted. Her expression softened, and she raised her hand to his cheek, caressing him for a brief second. "Thank y--"

What possessed him to cross the distance between them? To capture her lips with his? To push aside the riot in his head shouting that he was being stupid, that he was about to wreck a friendship that meant more than he'd cared to admit?

Whatever doubts Daniel had vanished when he realized that she was kissing him back. Her lips were soft, sweetness tinged with the spicy sauce from their dinner. The taste of her lingered on his tongue, but he restrained himself from pushing her too far. They both leaned back a little, opening their eyes, and he was unprepared for the surprise on her face. Had he read her completely wrong?

"I thought," she stammered. "Ke'ra -- I thought that maybe you and she...."

"Samantha Carter," he said gently, "Sometimes I'm an idiot."

God, he could get lost in that smile.

***

His pleasant thoughts were disturbed by the hushed tones of an airman talking to Doctor Fraiser. Janet was listening intently, and Daniel was struck by their stance. It was too deliberately casual. Fraiser said something quietly to the soldier; as he delivered a salute and turned away, she drew herself up straighter.

"Janet?" he asked as she began to move away. "What's up?"

The red-haired doctor met his eyes reluctantly, he sensed, and regarded him carefully for a moment. But, seeing something in his own expression, she did not hesitate.

"We're on alert," Janet told him baldly. The infirmary, Daniel knew, had its alarms muted, on the principle that they would do little to help recuperating patients. "I don't know all the details, but Colonel O'Neill was summoned to an Asgard ship. It's been overrun with some sort of -- technobugs, is the term they're using. Sam and Teal'c beamed up there as well. If they can't stop the ship from landing on Earth...." She regarded him steadily, apologetically. "It will have to be destroyed."

Close your eyes -- maybe it will go away. "That's why Sam couldn't stay," he said, talking to himself more than the doctor.

"Hey, hey! What are you doing?" Fraiser protested as Jackson pushed himself up from the narrow bed.

"I'm going down there," he said. He stopped for a moment, letting a wave of nausea pass, then extended his arm in the doctor's direction. "Are you going to take this thing out?" he demanded, indicating the IV tube, "Or am I?"

Janet's lips tightened, but she did not object. "I suppose you'll be wanting some clothes too," she said, her tone resigned.

***

Thor was dying. He never looked healthy at any time, Samantha Carter admitted, but the grey alien was definitely dying. She only hoped that the stasis pod which she'd activated could keep him alive long enough to get him back to the Asgard homeworld.

Thor was dying, and she didn't want to join him.

She was alone now in the silent control room of the Asgard ship, with only worry to keep her company. Think about the problem Carter, she chided herself. Work the problem, find the answer. Think.

She was distracted by images that she did not want to set aside. They were bittersweet memories now; a taste of pleasures which she might not have again. "Close your eyes," he'd said on that night not long past, and she did so now. She could feel his fingers as they traced lingering circles across her back. Heard his shuddering sigh as she lay in his arms.

Just for a moment, she could let herself remember.

***

He'd kissed her. Sam forgot the painful memories of Netu, and the incredulity that she'd tried to hide when he so much as asked her if she was in love with Jack O'Neill. Her inclination to grab him by the shoulders and ask him if he was blind -- so idiotically, stupidly blind -- was replaced with a more pressing desire to draw him forward before he came to his senses and realized that he was kissing her.

Ke'ra? she thought, unwillingly. What about Ke'ra?

"Samantha Carter."

She could drown in those blue eyes, she thought miserably.

"Sometimes I'm an idiot."

She wanted to laugh. She couldn't help but laugh. "Yes." Sam felt as if she was gasping for air. "Sometimes you are."

In one smooth movement he was on his knees, hands at her shoulders, grasping her fiercely as if he was afraid she'd escape. Sam lost track of the places where his lips touched her, claiming possession of her neck, the length of her jaw, the arch of her cheekbone. Every spot seemed inflamed, burning with promise. With a soft exclamation she pulled him up, forcing him to stop his frantic track across her face long enough to stretch out with her on the couch. His contented sigh as he extended his body -- molding his form to the curve of her hips and the swell of her chest -- nearly brought tears to her eyes.

"Sam?" he asked tentatively, his thumb a questioning caress at her lip. "Are you okay?"

She drew a deep, shuddering breath. "I am more than okay," she reassured him. "More than you can possibly know." Sam resisted the urge to giggle at the congruence of her black boots, his white sneakers tangled together at the end of the couch. "I have wondered for so long what it would be like to touch you." She ran her fingers lightly across his forehead, through the short ends of his brown hair, down his cheek. "I was so afraid --" She stopped, unable to say the words. That I'd never get the chance, the litany began in her mind. That you'd never look at me the way you're looking at me now. That I'd have to keep pushing it down, forcing it away, never daring to imagine it except alone, in my own bed.

"It's okay," he said, more tenderly than she could have imagined. "I know." He leaned into her, pressing his weight against her, claiming a kiss. She parted her lips to meet him, testing the taste of him with her tongue as she shifted her body to allow him to wrap his legs at her thigh; she reveled in the insistence of his erection against her side. Daniel cupped his hand at her neck, bringing her closer, and they were pressed together so intimately that Sam could barely breathe.

She scrambled to find some leverage, some control as she slipped deeper into a lethargy of gentle friction and patient exploration. She slipped her hand under his shirt -- a long, buttoned piece of fabric that, in typical Daniel fashion, he had not bothered to tuck in -- and was pleased by his small shudder as her fingers touched the tense muscles of his back, traced a path up, across the sharp ridge of his shoulder blade, and rested briefly at the back of his neck. With a sigh he stopped his exploration of the soft skin at her shoulder, and raised himself awkwardly. He slipped the buttons from his cuffs, jerking them free where they caught, and drew the shirt over his head. She sat up a little, scooting up against the tall arm of the couch, and stretched out her arms for him to slip off her own top.

The clothes fell to the floor, but Sam gave them little notice. She longed to run her fingers the length of his bare chest. He took her hand, however, and brought it to his lips. "You," he said, suckling her fingertips. "Are," he continued, his tongue tracking a soft line across her wrist, down her forearm. "Beautiful," he murmured, running his hand the length of her arm, lowering his head to her shoulder. He was bolder now, pressing at the hollow of her collarbone, nipping a path down, to the slope where fabric met skin.

He thumbed aside one strap of her bra, and the cup slid aside willingly. The lethargy was gone; Sam restrained a cry as he placed a series of lazy kisses around her breast, following its curve down, around. His cheek brushed her nipple, erect with tension, and she gasped. Daniel's lips were a smile against her skin until finally he relented and closed them over the pearled nipple -- sucking, grazing her with his teeth. Her fingers convulsed reflexively, grasping the silky fabric of the sofa cushion, until she moved her hands to his back. She urged him forward with gentle pressure, and he released the captive nipple, rubbing the soft stubble of his cheek down, into the hollow between her breasts, before freeing her completely from the grasp of the bra. He worked the second nipple between his fingers, teasing the pliant skin until it too stood erect and demanding, and then he lowered his mouth upon it.

She arched against him, pushing her willing skin against his mouth, grinding the damp muscles between her legs against his hips. It had been too long, she knew. Too long since she felt the warm exploration of another's hand, too many nights finding release only in memory or dream. "I want you next to me," she spoke in his ear, tickled by the fine hair cut close over it. "I want to be with you."

Daniel turned his head to meet her gaze, his eyes sober, intent. "Are you sure?" he asked, and she hardly recognized his voice.

She bit her lip, but nodded emphatically. And then, trying to forestall concern on his part, said softly, "I'm protected." Thanks be to Janet, she thought briefly, who insisted on birth control for all women on SG teams. "Now," she insisted, and knew that he was smiling at the impatience in her tone. Daniel rolled off of her, found his balance on the floor. Wordlessly he extended his hand, and she threaded her fingers through his. The gesture was oddly intimate, more so than their fumblings on the couch, and she concentrated fiercely on the details of his hand as she followed him.

The bedroom was cool and blindingly dark after the lamp-lit living room. It was black outside -- they'd left the SGC late, dithered over food choices -- and only pale starlight shimmered in the room. He hesitated at the edge of the unmade bed, and Sam thought, with startled insight, that he'd never shared it with another.

"Daniel," she said softly, taking his face between her hands and kissing him lightly. "Let me make love to you."

In answer, he enfolded her in his arms. It felt so odd to stand pressed against him, her chest bare against his. His fingers were soft against her back, his breath warm on her neck. Finally Daniel released her, fumbling for the button on his pants. She sat on the edge of the bed, prying off her boots, peeling away the confining fabric of her jeans. Then he was next to her, trying to kiss her and pull off his socks at the same time. Sam chuckled, ebullient relief bubbling up from her chest, and he laughed with her, against her lips. She was, she realized, trembling.

With a gentleness that surprised her, he guided her down, pushing aside the comforter to clear space for her. He closed his eyes, inhaling softly as she explored his skin, suckling at the hollow of his elbow, tasting the salty residue at his ribs, tracing the form of bone beneath skin with her tongue. She moved lower, brushing the soft down on his chest with her breath, massaging the muscles at his hips; grinning as he involuntarily jumped when she kissed his stomach, traced with her hands a path across the top of his thighs.

He groaned as she whispered against his erection, testing the hard shaft with her tongue. He was as ready for her as she had been for him, and the thought set her own center afire. He strained in pleasant agony as she massaged the tight skin at his upper thighs, explored the muscles at his groin, centering closer, closer...until she took him into her mouth.

"God," he managed, his teeth clenched. "Sam." It was a warning, a promise, and she knew that he would not be able to wait for her much longer.

"Shhhh," she said, feeling the sticky trail as she slid against him, moving up, caressing him between her breasts, against the flat muscles of her stomach, at the hard edge of her hip, before she finally straddled him. She paused, just for a second, to better position herself, then grasped him firmly with one hand. She guided him to her, just past the swollen flesh, teasing the tip of his erection with her own warmth. The sensation made her gasp. She couldn't wait, Sam realized, and slid forward, letting him fill her.

The jolt that inflamed her senses, made even the tips of her fingers quiver, bound them both in a moment of shocked stillness. She tensed -- one desperate attempt at control -- before he lifted himself, guiding her into a steady rhythm. She didn't wait any longer, joining him in an urgent tumult of friction, drawing him deeper into her than she thought possible.

Daniel's eyes were open, Sam realized, his gaze fixed on hers. He wouldn't leave her, not even now. She pressed her hand to his lips as they reached crescendo. She heard a voice cry out, and realized with surprise that it was her own.

She was sliding forward, not wanting to release him from inside her, but unable to support herself any longer. His arms were around her as she lay on his chest; she was only dimly aware that his skin was damp with sweat. Daniel tightened his grip, sheltering her in the curve of his arm.

"How did I ever live without you?" he murmured in the darkness.

***

She could almost hear Daniel's voice now.

This darkness was oppressive. The dim light of Thor's control room seemed foreboding, like a sign of encroaching danger. Ironic, Sam thought, given that they were likely to die in a fireball as the Asgard ship plummeted through Earth's atmosphere. She shivered.

There were voices -- Teal'c and O'Neill on their way back.

Samantha Carter very badly wanted to live.

***

He wanted his glasses. Daniel vaguely recalled that he'd left them in the living room. He'd discovered this, unfortunately, only when he blindly extended his arm -- a familiar, fumbling gesture that usually brought his hand in contact with the metal frames. This time, however... soft skin, a curved shoulder very familiar in the darkness of midnight.

It wasn't a dream. Sam Carter was in his bed, tangled in his comforter. He wanted his glasses so he could see her more clearly, to memorize in the light of day the features which he'd explored by touch last night. Daniel settled for shifting slowly, carefully, until he could move his arm without disturbing her. Using it to support his head, he drank in the sight of her.

There. That shiny track was the scar he'd felt on the back of her arm. Was it an old wound, Daniel wondered? A childhood accident? Or something later -- a remnant of military training, perhaps. And there, the mole that she'd laughed about when he discovered it. Laughing, he knew, at his teasing exploration, a journey of feather light kisses, infinite delight.

Sam mumbled something so softly that he couldn't make it out, and shifted restlessly. He held his breath, not wanting to wake her, but her eyes fluttered open anyway. Her lips curved slightly, a smile teasing their corners, and he realized that he'd been afraid... of what? That she wouldn't know where she was? That she would look confused, or ashamed?

He leaned to her, brushing her lips lightly. "I thought you'd never wake up."

Sam yawned, disentangling her arms from the cocoon of the comforter and stretching them skyward. "Don't want to," she said economically. "Let's stay in bed." She lifted the cover a little, and patted the space between them. "Come meet your fate."

"My fate?" he queried playfully. He already felt the stirrings of desire for her, and it amazed him. Could he ever get enough of her? How on earth was he going to pretend to be detached at work?

"You're a smart guy," Sam parried. She crooked a finger at him. "Come here. I'll use my imagination."

"I've no doubt," he agreed, sliding towards her. "However --" Daniel lifted his head, to look past her at the clock. He groaned. "We have remarkably little time before we are supposed to be at the SGC. And the last time I checked, you didn't have any clothes here other than the ones currently decorating my floor. So unless you want to let everybody at work know that you didn't go home last night...."

Sam grinned as she threaded her fingers at the back of his neck, urging him forward. "Then I'll have to be quick as well as imaginative." She kissed a path from forehead to chin, while guiding his body against hers. "I'm a smart girl. I can handle it."

*****

"Smart," he echoed her voice in his memory, speaking aloud unintentionally. He could see that mischevious smile, as if she was in front of him now.

Daniel Jackson sat in the control room, staring at the empty bay where the Stargate normally stood. The room was stark, cavernous without the huge ring. He had no doubt, however, that Carter had engineered the appropriation of SGC's Stargate. In the background, he heard Sergeant Harriman reporting to General Hammond: there was wreckage from the Asgard ship, but no signs of life. The Stargate was the only escape.

He leaned forward, as if he could reach through the safety glass in front of him, and across space to touch the missing Stargate. "It's a two way street, Samantha Carter," he whispered. "I don't leave you. You're not allowed to leave me."

Hammond was not generally demonstrative, but Daniel could feel the older man's eyes boring into the back of his head. Concern radiated off of him like a heat wave. Jackson didn't turn, however -- unwilling to hear more words of comfort from sober-faced soldiers. Close your eyes, he reminded himself. Trust Sam.

Know that she'll come back.


End file.
